Reach Out (I Need Someone)
by SweetDreamsAreMadeOfNaruto
Summary: Harry is tired, and on the brink of giving up. The war was supposed to be over when Voldemort died. Captured and alone, help is far from reach. Support comes from unexpected places. Drarry.


Disclaimer! Characters belong to J. K. Rowling.

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 **Reach Out (I Need Someone)**

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

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"Potter."

Harry looked up at the drawling voice. He managed to sneer and send a glance of pure loathing, but other than that, he was too tired, too beat up, to truly care about Draco Malfoy now.

He was at his breaking point. His body was sore and aching all over, and Malfoy Junior was a minor problem. Compared to the list of Death Eaters that already had had their go at him – including Lucius Malfoy – his son was nothing. He knew Dumbledore would have wanted Harry to give him a chance. If anyone was going to help him get of here, it was Malfoy. He was the only one who had shown any reluctance at all to Voldemort. Who had wavered when push came to shove, and had lowered his wand in front of Dumbledore. But Harry couldn't make himself bother – couldn't even allow himself the tiniest bit of hope. To be disappointed again would surely kill him. Besides, what was the use?

Dumbledore was dead.

Severus Snape, the only true ally they had among the Death Eaters, was dead.

Even _Voldemort_ was dead.

He had finally died, in the end. Harry had beaten him. But the Death Eaters had been too strong, too many, and Harry had been too weak, and he had been taken captive. The attack hadn't been expected. The Death Eaters hadn't scattered like they were supposed to have done. If he had believed the war to be over once Voldemort had been defeated he was severely disappointed. Loyal followers refused to believe in their Master's permanent demise. The Dark Lord already risen from death, once. Surely, he could be brought back again. And they intended to use Harry for their goal.

Idiots. They knew _nothing_.

He had been chained up at Malfoy Manor for a fortnight, now. Not a day had passed since blood hadn't tickled down his arms from where iron cut into his wrists. For weeks, all he had seen were the grey dungeons. And Death Eaters.

So many Death Eaters.

All punishing him for what he did to their Lord, none willing to let him die. If there was a possibility of getting used to the Crucious Curse, Harry would have been by now. But there wasn't. The pain was as sharp and cutting every single time. He had learned to endure it, though. If he hadn't, he would have gone insane. Though there were no Dementors here, Harry wondered if maybe Sirius hadn't felt somewhat like this when he was locked up in Azkaban. Harry couldn't believe he had survived it for so many years. It was somehow motivating. Or it should be, anyway. He'd make his godfather proud. He'd outlast this. He'd endure. He _had_ to. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was rescued. The Death Eaters could only stand without their leader for so long. His side was still fighting. It was a simple matter of endurance. He hadn't given up.

At least, that was what he told himself.

But his hopes did not lie within Malfoy. For all Harry knew, any reluctance he had once felt had disappeared during these last few years they had been separated. Malfoy had never liked Harry. And he certainly hadn't given Harry any reason to doubt his loyalties to his fellow Death Eaters. Even if he felt even the grist of uncertainty – hell, even if he disagreed full out with the rest of the Death Eaters – he'd always been too much of a coward to do anything about it. Malfoy was a ferret that would always save his own skin, even if that meant he had to stand and fight for a side he didn't agree with, or sell his soul to the likes of Voldemort.

Harry resented him for it.

"Potter."

Harry ignored him. He'd had a lot of practice. He was good at that, he thought.

Footsteps advanced. A hand seized his chin, sharply tugging his face towards another's. Malfoy. Harry met his eyes again. Grey, cold. Sharp like shards of glass. For a moment, Harry thought he saw something broken in his gaze. Something _human_. But an emotionless mask took its place and Harry didn't dwell on it. It was nothing but an illusion he wanted to see so desperately he fooled himself. No. Malfoy's eyes were like steel. Piercing. Unyielding. Unchanging. He looked disturbingly alike his father these days. It was painful to look at him.

Their faces were only inches apart, and Harry could feel Malfoy's breath on his lips.

Harry blanked out, staring emptily on the wall behind him. Dismissed him as unworthy of his attention. It was a way to cope. He had to choose his battles. Malfoy was not a priority.

Somewhere, in the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy's jaw clench.

It wasn't that he wanted more pain. His entire body hurt. But he needed to preserve strength of mind rather than that of his body, now. Defiance was the only thing he had left. He had been stripped bare, tortured, shackled to the wall for such a long time. His freedom, his friends and his dignity had been taken away. It was all he had left, and he couldn't lose it.

A hand brushed away hair from his face, trailing over his forehead until he reached the scar. A finger followed the zigzag pattern. The touch was oddly intimate, but Harry continued to treat Malfoy as air.

Malfoy's hand moved along his jaw, a thumb brushed over his cracked lips. They were broken, dried blood covered them from all the times he'd bitten into his lips to be quiet. Tried to be quiet. He'd given up, after a while. Screamed as they tortured him. Screamed until his voice broke. After all, that was what they wanted more than anything – to hear him scream. He still resorted to bury his teeth in his lips whenever information was asked about his friends, though. He'd rather die infinitive times over before he betrayed them.

"Look at me."

Harry ignored him.

Malfoy lifted his jaw. He shuffled a little closer. He could feel Malfoy's body heat seep into his cold, numb body. He'd been cold for so long, he seemed to have forgotten what heat was.

"Potter," Malfoy breathed.

Harry closed his eyes. He felt the hand slide down his neck, slowly move down his chest. He suppressed a shiver as fingers rested at his hipbone.

"Harry," said Malfoy.

Harry did shiver, then. His heart, which had seemed dead for so long, did a double beat, slowly, slowly raising his pulse.

Malfoy leaned in. His cheek brushed against Harry's, the side of his face coming to rest against his own. Malfoy's lips grazed his ear. "We need to get you out of here."

The whisper was so unexpected; Harry thought he misheard him. Or hallucinated. But then Malfoy pulled back and Harry looked at him. _Truly_ looked at him. His chin was as pointy as ever, but he had become even thinner – alarmingly so. His face was ashen; dark, shrunken hollows underneath his eyes, exhaustion written clearly on his features. In comparison his eyes looked shockingly alive, and Harry, unexpectedly, felt a twinge of gratitude that Malfoy hadn't died in the war. He was surprised he cared, with so many he had lost. For a second time he thought saw compassion rather than hate in his gaze, and Harry couldn't help wonder if Malfoy deliberately let down his shields to let him see that. Then he wondered if it was just part of his acting, too. Strangely, the thought hurt.

"Very funny, Malfoy," Harry said, because he deserved points for the effort. Or maybe because he missed human interaction and Malfoy seemed a lesser monster than the others. His voice came out sounding raspy and hoarse. Harry blamed too little use and too many agonized screams for far too many hours.

"I am truly sorry. I've thought of everything I could. I-I didn't know how."

Harry closed his eyes again to not give Malfoy a chance to see his vulnerability. He had been wrong to underestimate him. Severely wrong. Malfoy was worse than the others, because right now, he played on his emotions. Harry could so easily be fooled, if he only let himself.

A hand caressed his jaw. Despite himself, Harry trembled. He felt weak.

"I managed to send an owl," Malfoy said quietly. "To Granger. I don't know if it will reach her, or if it will do more harm than good. I honestly don't know, Potter."

He sounded tired. Frustrated.

"I'm scared. They'll kill me, you know. If…

"My father. He wouldn't hesitate to do it. I thought he would, but... I don't even…" He choked on his words. "I don't even know him."

Harry bit his tongue, tasting blood. He felt like sobbing. For the first time he got here, he felt like sobbing. Malfoy let out a quivering breath. Finger brushed over his lips again. Slowly. Back, forth. Almost obsessively.

Malfoy was so close. Harry breathed him in. Everything.

The entire situation felt surreal, but that didn't make the proximity any less intoxicating. Of course, hadn't he been chained up, he would never let Malfoy this close. Hadn't he been here, Malfoy would have no reason to come, trying to break him where others failed. And hadn't Harry been so starved of human contact he wouldn't have felt like this.

"I'm really… sorry, Potter." His voice sounded almost like that time Harry caught his crying in the rest room, talking to Moaning Myrtle. For some reason, Harry suddenly recalled when he, Ron and Hermione had been captured all those months ago. How Malfoy had refused to confirm their identities. Harry had been almost sure he knew who he was.

Hands moved over his body. His was covered in bruises, aching, everywhere, even when left untouched, but the fingers caressed him with a gentleness that didn't inflict pain.

"This is my fault. Because I couldn't…" Malfoy's head fell against his shoulder. To Harry's surprise, he felt wet, hot tears fall on skin. "I know you hate me. That's okay."

Harry almost believed him, then.

He said nothing.

They just stood like that. Malfoy just stood like that. His body gently pressed against Harry's, warming him and feeling so incredibly good against his own. Warmth was underrated. Silent tears and hot, wrenched breaths fell against his shoulder and neck. Malfoy fingers run over his body as if to calm his nerves. Over his chest. Arms. Back. Shoulder. Neck. Hair. Face. Again, the touch was almost obsessive. Desperate. He never went below his waist, though.

Part of Harry wanted to push him away. Yell at him. What did he think he was doing, trying to manipulate him..? Harry wasn't fooled, he _couldn't_ be fooled by his façade… Malfoy couldn't take advantage of his feelings. This wasn't about _him_. He had no right to shed tears.

An inexplicable part wanted to hold him.

Malfoy moved as if to leave, but then he spun around. Harry expected this to be the moment he would laugh. Say it had all been an act. Gloat, relish in Harry's helplessness.

But Malfoy grabbed his jaw again, looked fervently into his eyes. This time, the grip was painfully in its intensity. "Don't. Give. Up," he said. " _Fight._ "

A spark Harry couldn't control ignited within him, an unbendable feeling stirred in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt that he would be able to keep going one more day.

Malfoy gave him a nod, let go, and left him to his confusion.

When Malfoy left, Harry cried.

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 **A/N** I go bananas over reviews and they make me a very, very happy aspirering author. So tell me what you think or Snape will haunt you. 'Cause he's on my side.

Anyway. *cough, cough* Thanks for reading and have a nice day. :)

UPDATE - A Russian translation by **Ellen Sweett** is now available. Go to my profile for links.


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